Jan 23
1 min read
Nonstarter
100-word memoir
“I’m telling you now,” my wife said, “since you’ll find out eventually.” I poured coffee and looked outside. February, Southcentral Alaska. It would be dark for hours yet — and bitterly cold. “I used your email,” she said, “to contact a vasectomy-reversal surgeon.” I sipped. “Why?” She shrugged. “Thought it’d be weird to use mine.” Snow clung to the birch trees surrounding the house. Nothing moved. “I didn’t mean…
